My Worth Isn’t Contingent, 2016-2021

Part 2 of 4,000 Days of Juju

I didn’t always care for what I saw.

The last five years of my life have been spectacular, and I wouldn’t have known that if I didn’t reflect on my photo archive.

Staged concentration

In 2017, I traveled a lot—the most I’d ever traveled in a single year. I spent time in Iceland, my first international trip, before bouncing to Virginia Beach, Memphis, New Orleans, and Orlando.

I had bad knees at the time and I was TERRIFIED I’d slip when I got up.

Splish. Splash.

In Iceland, I reconnected with God. Being in nature bolsters my connection to forces that are far greater than I. I’m drawn to water, and I photographed every waterfall and river. I sat with my legs swinging off the side of tectonic plates and cliffs, awed by the world nestling itself into my lap. I took at least 300 pictures, but I didn’t post many of them because I hated my body. I weighed 250 pounds at the time and I couldn’t stand to look at myself. I only chose the ones that made me look smaller, or where my body couldn’t be fully perceived.

Now, I wonder how I could purport a connection with God while hating Her reflection.

I’m nothing if not consistent.

Nicki was the milkshake duck of the century. I no longer stan.

My obsession with my body being smaller continued into 2018, a year in my camera roll dominated by food pictures, gym selfies, and workout routines. As my career and personal life progressed positively, my mental health folded. I felt as though I couldn’t do anything hard enough. I wasn’t working out hard enough, I wasn’t working hard enough—I wasn’t hard enough. It’s like I was back in college and punishing myself for not meeting unrealistic expectations I’d conjured. I tried keeping track of my “gains”and “wins,” but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

This bar was fun. No, I don’t remember the name.

If you followed me on IG between 2018-2020, I was the smoothie god.

My perception of my body was skewed, as was how I saw my life. I wasn’t unsuccessful. I was brilliant and beautiful. I was everything I sought to be. I ignored my depth and all that was wonderful about me because I was trying to be … perfect.

I’d blur my feet if I could. People pay for those!

I debated sharing this one. It’s very intimate. But since telling this anecdote scared me, I decided to do it since that’s the point of this newsletter. The night before, I said some really mean things to myself. I woke up and, in an attempt to reclaim my power, took this photo.

My body anxiety intensified in 2019, starting when a dermatologist told me that a staph infection on my leg could have killed me if I hadn’t come in. (A comment that was incredibly unnecessary!) A few weeks later, a cyst landed me in the emergency room and, not long after, my migraines were misdiagnosed as a rare neurological disease. I became hyperaware of everything, and I would run to the ER or the doctor’s office when anything minor happened. Simultaneously, I was spending hours in the gym doing intense workouts. Despite my body telling me that I needed to slow down, I ramped up my pursuit of the perfect body.

fuck you lookin at

Snatched, severely.

I couldn’t spend exuberant amounts of time in the gym or run away from my shit during the pandemic. I was forced to confront my body dysmorphia and self-deprecating thoughts. Tragedy recalibrated my thinking as it often does. I realized that I should figure out how to be grateful for my life and this body—no matter what it looks like.

Get vaccinated so you can enjoy time out with friends.

I hate that it took witnessing so much pain for me to understand my worth isn’t contingent on how I look.